


The Unexpected Continuation of Lesser Wolves

by Guns_and_Drums



Series: The Anticlimactic Non-Imprintment of Embry Call [2]
Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guns_and_Drums/pseuds/Guns_and_Drums
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dumping ground for all outtakes, extras, and mindless drabbles. Not necessarily what I think would actually happen to any characters. The story is done and I want readers to take the characters where they want. I am just fanfic'ing my fanfic. Because I've reached that level of lame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Outtake #1: Liz and Paul

**Author's Note:**

> I have lots of secondary character feels regarding this story and no desire to write a sequel. Expect lots of random shooters from the likes of anyone and everyone. They may be arbitrary or conflicting. Make of them what you will.

For reasons unbeknownst to Liz, Paul had a fantastic bathroom. His place was small. The bedroom and the kitchen were really the only true rooms. And the bathroom. Liz thought that whomever he rented the place from might've tried to make up for lack of space with a decent place to wash up.

Liz had gone from a college dorm – with nothing more than a sink, a toilet, and a stall shower – to an apartment with similar accommodations.

The first time she'd been to Paul's place she was amazed. Mostly, because the bathroom didn't match the rest of the small two-room house. It was small, simply-made and obviously well-cared for. Liz – like Jezzie – came from her own brand of hovering around the poverty line in Detroit, and had zero issue with the place. The size proved the Paul wasn't making bank working in dry dock but he took pride in what his pay could afford.

The porch's wood planks were bleached from salt and sun and were well worn, but even and some newly nailed into place. Inside, the walls were a bare clean, crisp white. The bed was made neatly, and the linoleum floor and laminate counter tops were spotless. It was sparse, but well-loved and kept. It had character.

But Liz opened the door to the bathroom to wash her hands one day, and she stopped short. There was tile flooring. And sink with two feet of counter space on each side. There was a huge mirror and particular care to lighting. And an old claw-footed tub in the corner where the shower hook up came from the wall.

So when Liz came into town for his cousin's wedding, she told him she would be getting ready at his place. Because his bathroom kicked ass.

"Goddamn right it does. I don't do shit half-assed," he replied automatically.

Liz just quirked a brow. "What?"

"If I'm gonna rebuild a bathroom," he explained, "I'm not building a shitty one."

"You  _built_  that?" she asked in wonder.

"Don't sound so surprised," Paul rolled his eyes. "When I moved in the thing wasn't even up to code. I got the landlord to knock some money off the rent, if I agreed to finish the bathroom."

"Wow," Liz nodded in appreciation. "You're good."

"I spend a lot of time getting fucking filthy," he reminded her. Sure, she knew about working with the ships, but there were also the hours of patrolling in the rain and mud. "When I come home, I want a decent bathroom."

"A girl can respect that," Liz smiled.

So when Liz came into town, she stayed at Jezzie's – because Liz wasn't quite ready to overload Paul's system by moving into his place for a week – but arrived bright and early the day of the his cousin's wedding. She had warned him she'd be over early. She had warned him she would be using his bathroom to get ready. He didn't seem to care. But when she knocked on his door at 8AM, he swung the door open in a bleary-eyed haze. He'd clearly just gotten up: his hair was everywhere, and the pattern of the crinkled bedsheets was still fading from the side of his face and his torso. He looked at her with a slight degree of confusion over his cup of coffee.

"You need three hours to get ready?" he asked, checking the clock. "We're not leaving until, like, eleven."

"Oh, I know," Liz replied dropping her bag on the floor just inside the door. "But Al's gone fishing for the season, and Jezzie's home for Christmas break so her and Embry are being sickeningly cute and it's just too early for that shit."

"Assholes," Paul agreed with a grin at his brother's expense. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on Liz's forehead and she snagged his coffee cup from his hands while he was distracted.

"At least they're not as weird as Quil and Veronica," Paul told her as she took a sip. It was entirely to Paul's credit that Liz had gotten used to black coffee.

"They  _are_  weird," Liz smiled good-naturedly.

"You're freezing," Paul noted as his hands overlapped hers in his attempt to retrieve his coffee. "You know I turned the heat up because I knew you were coming over."

"You mean you turned the heat  _on?"_  Liz laughed. "Paul, I have never seen you touch the thermostat."

"I'm always hot," he shrugged smiling at his own joke.

"That's what she said," Liz replied with a well aimed poke to his chest.

"I'm really glad Seth's sense of humor is rubbing off on you," Paul said dryly. "Have I mentioned that?" He retreated to the kitchen and Liz ambled after him.

"It's not  _my_  fault he's over Jezzie's more often than Embry is. Between Seth, Embry, and Collin they could all start racking up frequent flyer miles. But give me an ounce of credit of having my own special brand of humor."

"Oh, you get more than an ounce," he laughed handing her her own cup of coffee. "Let me take a quick shower and the bathroom's all yours."

He held her cold hands between his own and he placed a kiss on her freezing nose, trying to moderate her temperature with his own. "Turn the heat up if you like. I'll survive."

"Okay," she grinned in appreciation. "Go tame that mane," she ruffled his hair.

While Paul spent a grand total of eleven minutes in the bathroom, Liz pulled her dress out of her bag and hung it over the doorway to prevent wrinkling, and helped herself to a bowl of cereal while listening to the weather report on the radio.

"You mind if I wear heels?" Liz asked after a bite of Cheerios, when Paul ambled back into the kitchen with a towel over his shoulders.

"When have I ever cared what you wear?" he asked as he pulled the OJ from the fridge and leaned against the counter where she sat. "I mean… I like looking at you – don't get me wrong – but I'm hardly qualified to give fashion advice."

She shrugged. "I'll be taller than you," she explained.

"Hm…" he hummed in thought before fishing around in the pockets of his sweatpants.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for a fuck to give. And there's not a one to be found. Wear whatever makes you happy."

Liz smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek as she hopped off the counter and made for the bathroom.

Paul didn't make a habit of smiling. Smiling was for the weak, but Liz just so happened to unearth that tendency in him more frequently.

* * *

Apparently the bathroom wasn't  _quite_ finished yet. There was no fan, so Liz had to prop the door halfway open to let the steam out after her shower.

She sat on the spacious countertop with her makeup spread before her in a bra and underwear. She had the luxury of doing hair and makeup before getting dressed since her dress didn't have to go over her head.

The house had warmed up substantially, and the shower had put some heat back into her bones. She hummed absently as she fingered lightly through her few compacts of bronzer. She was halfway through her regimen, her legs crossed as she watched her face intently in the mirror when the light changed and shadow came from the doorway. She refocused her gaze in the mirror – her hand paused at her eye with the shadow brush in her hand.

She grinned at Paul's reflection in the mirror as he silently observed her. She finished her eyes and glanced down as she twisted the tube of lipstick. "Why are you watching me, you goof?"

"I dunno," Paul admitted quietly.

Liz rolled her eyes and continued where she left off. Paul still watched, but it didn't bother her. He wasn't staring – and Paul was very good at staring – he was just observing. Instead of feeling uncomfortable or invasive, it felt very personal.

Liz worked on the final touches when a pair of arms wrapped around her middle and a head appeared at her shoulder.

"Thanks for coming with me today," Paul muttered. "I appreciate it. Weddings suck without someone to hang out with and I haven't seen half my family since high school."

"You're welcome," Liz replied. "Most chicks dig weddings. The people watching is always fun. And you are a pretty good dancer."

"Damn straight, I am. Who do you think taught Sam to dance before his wedding?" There was a pause of silence, as Paul just watched Liz intently through the mirror. She could tell he was deciding whether or not he wanted to speak and just how exactly he wanted to say it. Liz had learned a while back that most of Paul's pauses were so induced. Generally, it meant he was trying not to sound like an asshole. According to Leah and Rachel, he'd developed quite an extraordinary level of tact over the years.

So Liz just waited. She was patient. "You're really gorgeous…" he told her reflection.

"Thank you," Liz replied as Paul landed a kiss just beneath her ear.

"And I love you," he finished.

Liz's eyes popped open with  _that_  one. She knew Paul cared about her. The fact that he let her into his overheated apartment at 8AM on a Saturday made that plainly obvious to her. She knew. But Paul was more about acts than words. He was a physical being always more comfortable with doing and touching than saying and speaking. So this was a big deal.

Liz spun around on the counter, now staring at Paul's face instead of just his reflection. "I love you too," she insisted as the smile broke over her face.

Paul's shoulders fell with obvious relief. "Good. Because otherwise this wedding would've just gotten a lot more awkward."


	2. Outtake #2: Jezzie and Embry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random brainwave of inspiration is random. Remember, I don't consider any of these little shooters to necessarily be canon (as will be evidenced when I post some excerpts of Jezzie turning into a werewolf after the final battle), but mostly they are just ideas that pop into my noggin'.

"I have to tell him, Leah."

"Probably a good idea. You know he's gonna wanna come home, though, right?"

"I know. I think I can probably talk him out of it," Jezzie decided.

"Do you want me to Alpha whammy him?"

"No, that would be mean. He'd hate me if I had you order him to stay in Korea."

"He's only been gone for a few weeks, Jezzie…"

"Exactly," she emphasized. "And he's got three months left. Plus debriefing for corporate in San Francisco when he's done? That's at least four months. If he bails now… no, he'd risk his job. That'd be awful and totally unnecessary."

"Well, we all know Embry's not exactly light on the melodrama and blowing things out of proportion. So, you know all this going in and you're still going to tell him?"

"Yes! I can't  _lie_  to him. Not about this. You were just egging me into telling him and now you're angling the other way?"

"Just playing devil's advocate," Leah raised her hands in surrender.

Jezzie sighed and shook her head. "I'm calling him," she announced while looking at the phone clutched in her hand.

Leah seemed to understand implicitly that this was something Jezzie needed a friend for and didn't move, but only stayed seated on the bed. She flicked casually through a magazine as Jezzie listened to ring after ring.

Embry had been gone for three weeks – twenty days, to be exact – and he was scheduled to be gone until just before the holidays. Time apart wasn't exactly a new concept for Jezzie and Embry, in fact it was probably the norm. The pair spent at least a quarter of the year apart. Jezzie consulting or going to conferences, and Embry being a critical unit in the Pacific-Asian division of a firm that was seeing a lot of expansion. Jezzie had also spent her med school years on the East Coast – only returning to Seattle for her residency.

Ten years together and Jezzie and Embry were used to the way life pulled and pushed them in different directions. The time apart hadn't been the problem… until Jezzie started feeling sick. Not flu sick, not MS sick, not any kind of sick she was at all used to.

"Is this even a tolerable hour in Korea?" Leah asked offhand.

"Well, yeah," Jezzie rolled her eyes. "Why do you think I called you over  _now?_  Us humans keep normal sleep schedules, Leah. We don't all thrive on third-shift patrols of La Push."

Leah shrugged and continued to browse her magazine.

Jezzie growled slightly as the phone continued to ring. "Embry," she muttered to herself. "Pick up your phone…"

"Hel-lo," replied the mechanical autobot, "You've reached–"

Jezzie snapped the phone shut before it had the chance to complete the prompt and go to voicemail. "No dice?" Leah asked.

"No dice," Jezzie confirmed. "This sucks… every time I pick up the phone my heart starts beating a mile a minute because I'm nervous and then when nothing happens I– ah!"

_Ring!_

Jezzie's train of thought derailed as she shouted and jumped at the phone's harsh ringtone. Her motion caused the phone to fall from her lap and to the floor.

_Ring!_

"Gah!" she leapt off the bed and scrambled to reach under the bed to grab the phone. Leah watched as the girl retrieved the device, sat on the ground, took a deep breath, and opened the phone. "Embry?"

"Hi, Jez!" Leah could hear Embry over the sound of urban rustling in the background. "Sorry, I missed you, I just got back in the building. What's up?"

"Embry do you have some time to talk? Did I catch you in the middle of anything?" Jezzie twirled the end of the quilt at the edge of the bed incessantly between her fingers and was on the verge of chewing her lip to a pulp.

"No, no," Embry insisted and Leah heard the sound of keys as the din in the background of the call lessened. "I'm good. Shoot."

"Embry?"

"Jezzie?"

"Embry, we're having a baby."

Leah heard the distinct sound of metal – keys? – hitting the ground and nothing else. Silence.

"Embry?" Jezzie questioned. Her hearing was not nearly as heightened and Leah was sure all the girl was met with was silence. However she seemed to figure it out quickly enough. "Embry, breathe!" she demanded.

Leah stifled a laugh when she heard the sound of Embry's audible exhale. "We're… you… me. Baby?"

"Yeah," Jezzie admitted weakly. When Leah looked down from the bed the girl had curled her knees up to her face and there were tears in her eyes. "I'm pregnant, Embry."

"I'm going to be a Dad?"

"Mhm."

"You're going to be a Mom?"

"Yes." Jezzie exhaled and relaxed slightly. So far so good, Leah figured. Embry was thus far taking this all rather well.

"That's fucking amazing… I'm coming home."  _Never mind._

"No!" Jezzie's spine shot up to attention. "No, Embry don't. Please don't."

"You're pregnant and you want me to stay in South Korea?"

"I don't  _want_  you to stay, but it's your job, Embry. I don't want to take out the trash tomorrow, but I'll do that anyways. You can't just leave. You just got there. I'm pregnant, I'm not dying."

"But–"

"Embry," Jezzie interrupted. "I've got plenty of help here. You know that. What are the odds of your being able to fly back home now and still keep your job?"

"About as good as the Mariners making the playoffs."

"Exactly," Jezzie affirmed. "Embry, you were so excited when you got this job and I know it's busy. But I know you love it and if you got fired just to watch me puke for three months I would never forgive myself. I would seriously regret making this phone call."

"And you think my coming home to your being several months pregnant would've been a better idea?" Embry asked in a mocking tone.

"No, but you'd still have a job."

"I can get another job."

"But there's nothing wrong with this one," Jezzie whined. "Embry, please… I… I want you stay, okay? I'm going to be all right and there will be plenty of action when you get back. Lots of back pain and swollen ankles and sleepless nights and irregular bowel movements. Really, you'll be back in time for all the good stuff."

"Jezzie, you are pregnant with our first child and you want me to just be cool with not being there for the next three months?"

"I'm not asking you to be cool with it," Jezzie sighed in exasperation. "I'm asking you not to do anything you'll regret. Look, I have vacation time coming up in the next month or two. I'll come out and visit, okay?"

"You and Liz were going to go visit Carla out in New York, remember?"

"Yeah, well, I'll spend a week in Seoul and a week in the big apple. I can meet Liz there. Can we compromise on that? Please?"

"I promise to stay as long as you keep me updated."

"Well, duh, Embry," Jezzie admitted. Like she was just going to not talk to him after this point until he got home?

"I want you to be honest, though, Jez. Don't spare my psyche, all right? I know you do that whenever you have an MS flare and we're apart. I get why, but don't pull that on me with this, okay? This is too important."

Jezzie grimaced. When they were apart she tended to wait until it was unavoidable to tell him her MS was flaring. She always felt bad making him feel guilty or worried. So she often downplayed and sugarcoated. If Embry was good at worrying, Jezzie was good at worrying about worrying.

"I promise," she said quietly. "I'll be honest, and you'll keep your job?"

"Sounds like a deal. Now tell Leah to stop giving you crazy ideas."

* * *

"You look the same," Embry said in disappointment.

"Good to see you too," Jezzie replied with a shove to her boyfriend's shoulder at the luggage corral in Incheon International Airport just outside of Seoul. "I'm only two months along, you goof. Do you think I'm just going to inflate like a balloon?"

Embry pulled Jezzie into a hug and was content to keep her there. "You smell like recycled air and coffee. It's good to have you back."

Jezzie smiled and Embry pulled her bag off the belt as they made for the exit.

"You don't think it looks any different?" Jezzie asked a half hour later standing in front of the full-length bathroom mirror. She would switch perspectives on her silhouette tipping and turning to see if the baby bump was discernible.

"I check everyday, so I don't notice the difference, but my pants are starting to feel tight." Embry smiled, dropping the bag on the bed and walked over to watch the small redhead wiggle and squirm and contort in front of the mirror. "I guess it's hard to tell with clothes on…" she tilted her head as she evaluated her reflection. She turned her head and smiled at Embry.

"The doctor can hear her heartbeat on the ultrasound," she confessed. "It's… it's something else."

Embry had gotten the pictures and the frantic screaming phone calls before and after every exciting doctor's appointment. Jezzie was thrilled and fascinated by the whole process. He'd also almost choked when Jezzie started using feminine pronouns. He hadn't missed anything. Apparently, she just 'had a feeling.'

He took a few steps, closing the distance between them, bending down to kiss Jezzie on the top of her head. She reached for his hand and tugged it towards her. She guided it with her own, slipping the pair carefully under her shirt until his hand rested against the skin at her abdomen.

"I can feel the difference," Embry told her matter-of-factly.

"You would," Jezzie rolled her eyes. "You notice everything."

"Wait… Oh my god," Embry gasped, and Jezzie felt his muscles tense. His eyes widened as he stared down at her.

"What?!"

"I can feel it!" his face broke into the widest grin she'd ever seen. "I can feel the heartbeat."

He dropped to his knees and put his ear to Jezzie's abdomen. He held her by the hips and she could see his mouth open in wonder as he stared off, focusing on the sound.

"She sounds amazing."

* * *

Embry had been back in the US for two weeks, and was scheduled to be back in his own zip code in one when Jezzie called him to tell her she wasn't feeling well.

"I think it's the MS," she admitted quietly. Embry had known that Jezzie was worried about a flare while she was pregnant but had thus far made it through unscathed. She was part of the way through her second trimester – almost the halfway point – when she'd called Embry in San Francisco.

"It's still a little early to tell. It could just be general muscle aches – I've put on some weight in the last week or so – but I don't know."

She'd sounded so tired and so defeated that Embry clearly didn't need to worry. Jezzie was doing enough on her own.

"You going to be all right until I get home next week?" he asked her.

"I'll be fine," she assured him with only a bit more conviction.

* * *

It was the MS.

Jezzie was half hobbled by her partial paralysis when she and his mom picked him up at the Port Angeles airport. She put on a good face, but Embry could tell she was exhausted and in plenty of pain. It was incredibly difficult for Embry or his wolf not to scoop the woman up and cart her from the aiport. It was much easier to discern her baby bump, now that she was four months on.

After Tiffany fussed over her son sufficiently, she left him and Jezzie alone on the sidewalk while she went to get the car.

"I went to the doctor," Jezzie said apropos of nothing but answering the question on the tip of Embry's tongue. "I've got the right meds to ride this thing out. It doesn't feel like it'll be too bad or too long. It usually gets worse more quickly if it's going to be a bad one."

She heaved a long-suffering sigh and continued to observe the pavement.

"What else is it, Jez?" Embry asked carefully. "What else is bothering you?"

Embry waited and Jezzie raised her eyes to stare into the middle distance, gathering herself. She swallowed and spoke as she watched the few cars trickling through the airport's main drop off point. Her hand went to the baby, moving gently and comfortably over a small area like it had become habit.

"What if she can feel what I feel, Embry? What if she's in pain too?"

"Jezzie–"

"What if she's sick like me?"

His hand found hers, and underneath he could feel a small pattering heartbeat and a gentle kick.

"She'll be amazing just like you."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired this piece of art from another fandom, found at http://peekabooga.tumblr.com/post/22318798225: 


	3. Outtake #3: Veronica and Quil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but I think election day needed something that didn't take itself so seriously. This otherwise has no point.

Quil could hear the tell-tale tromp of Veronica as she made her way up the front steps, finally home from work. There was a clunk of uncomfortable shoes being shed at the door, and he listened as she nudged the swinging kitchen door open.

"Hi dear," she mumbled giving his shoulder a kiss before sliding onto the countertop. She watched him as he worked on dinner. Quil was always home earlier than Veronica, so he took dinner duty. She made the lunches. Neither of them was anywhere near an acceptable level of lucidity in the morning to ever make breakfast.

"Whatever you're making it smells delicious," Veronica told him. Quil could hear the smile in her voice and sense her feet swinging beside him.

"When have I ever made you bad food?" he demanded to know.

"Well, you did do something weird with strawberry jam and mustard once."

"I was drunk!" Quil retorted. "Tequila makes me do weird things!"

"The kitchen smelled for a week, Quil," Veronica reminded him mattery of factly. "All probably wouldn't been fine if you didn't put it on the stove."

He stuck a very mature tongue out at her and she watched him work. "I still don't know you manage to do that without cutting a finger off. I can barely manage and I'm fully sighted."

"That's why you make the sandwiches," Quil smirked. "Trust me when I say you have more spatial awareness than you think. It gets better the more you rely on it. Remember I walked into furniture for months?"

Veronica laughed to herself after a moment. "Did you ever see that show – back when we were kids – about those cartoon kids that could manipulate elements? They were fighting some war and the kid that could control air was stuck in an iceberg for, like, a century."

"The Last Airbender?" Quil quirked a brow. "Anna used to make sure she was over a friends house in Forks every week to watch the new episode because no one here had cable."

"That's the one!" Veronica snapped her fingers. "I distinctly remember that they had someone in their gang who couldn't see. And I remember she got around just by, like, feeling the earth's vibrations in her feet. Toph! That was her name! You remind me of her."

"Thanks, but I'm not  _that_  good," Quil laughed. "So, why were you so late today? It's darker than when you normally get home."

Veronica slid off the counter and went to the fridge, rummaging for a drink. "Oh, I had to go vote and the lines at poll stations during rush hour are ridiculous."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot today was election day…" Quil mused. Then, he heard Veronica gasp and the sound of a dropped can. "Ronnie?" Quil spun around, but he couldn't sense a heightened heart rate or pulse.

" _What do you mean you forgot today was election day?!"_  Veronica shouted.

"Okay," Quil raised his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Please stay calm. I forgot that today was election day."

"What do you  _mean_  you forgot, Quil!" she shrieked. "This isn't some little rinky dink town board election. This is a national election! There are presidents to be elected, ballot questions to be answered. Quil, it's your responsibility to vote!"

"I am sorry," Quil began slowly. "I forgot. We can have an election day date next go around, all right?"

"No, not all right," she scoffed, and he could hear her march out of the room as she continued to talk. "You are registered, right?"

"Yes," Quil tried not to be offended. "They have a massive voter registration campaign for all outgoing seniors at QTS. I was back for the last week of classes so they'd graduate me. Jake filled the form out. That was a long ass time ago. For all I know he enrolled me in the Communist party."

"Okay, that's a start," she muttered, and he heard her stumble as she slipped her sneakers on. "Put your shoes on and turn off the stove. We're driving you to your polling station."

"Ronnie?" Quil insisted as she made her way back to the kitchen. "I don't even know what is happening this election, who's running. I mean, I'm all for civic responsibility but voting is not intrinsically good. I'm not gonna vote ignorant."

"Of course not," she insisted. "I'm going to give you a crash course on the way. It's six thirty, it'll take about a half hour to get to your polling station. We'll be fine."

"Ronnie…"

" _Get in the car!"_

* * *

"Do you feel better?"

Quil was quite surprised by how quickly Veronica could drive and still give him an absolute run down of everything that had happened in every major candidates campaign for the last year. She detailed ballot questions, and platforms, and Quil was actually really impressed. Mostly because as passionate as she was about making sure he voted, he really couldn't tell which way she voted. She did give his face a shove when he got excited about the legalization of marijuana being on the ballot.

"Well, I bet Paul voted today. Blind people get pot, right?"

" _Medical_  marijuana is for cancer and glaucoma patients, Quil!"

She gave him pretty scathing review of everyone with a name on the ballot, but she seemed to be an equal opportunity doubter. By the time they'd gotten back home, he could hear her dragging her feet up the steps. She was exhausted.

"Mm," she mumbled as she slumped further into him and the couch. She'd resigned herself to the couch and her usual spot cuddled into Quil's side.

"All the civic activism got you tuckered out, real quick."

"I wanna stay up for the results," she mumbled into his shirt. Beneath the quilt, Quil's hands found a contented and warm place against Veronica's abdomen. His fingers had long grown familiar with the smooth and gentle contours of her shape. She relaxed back into his embrace. The touch was familiar, moving in learned patterns. They'd long moved from the curious and frenzied groping underneath clothes and blankets to the kind of contact that wanted nothing more than to touch.

"Whaddya see?" she asked with her eyes closed.

"No more red and blue states. It's all kinda purpley now. I think it's gonna be a long night."

 


	4. Outtake #4: Leah and Nessie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'm just trying to remember that the world is a good place and that the number of hugs per gunshot victim is very, very high... Some people are terrible and broken, but humanity is good. I believe that." –Hank Green
> 
> Trigger warning. No graphic violence, but some truly terrible history.

 

"Leah, what's this word say?"

Leah glanced down from the pile of bills and receipts on the table to the small girl sprawled out on the floor with her book. Nessie had recently chosen a book from Embry's collection about the rise and fall of imperialism in the twentieth century.

Jacob and Leah allowed Nessie to read, more or less, without censoring what struck her fancy. However, every now and then she'd pick a book about a topic that she could intellectually understand, but lacked the maturity to process. Nessie was good at prodding her own confusion by asking lots of questions. Truth be told both Jacob and Leah preferred the girl learn the unpleasant and confusing aspects of the world through the written word and their explanations, before she was dumped lock and stock and barrel into the realities of it all.

Leah thought this particular book would raise a lot of Nessie's questions. "Lemme see," she smiled slightly, beckoning Nessie towards her. The young girl placed the book on the table, scattering a few receipts in the process, and climbed up into Leah's lap.

"That one," Nessie pointed. "It's come along a couple times but I don't know how to say it."

Leah knew exactly what Nessie was having a hard time pronouncing before the girl even signaled out a word on the page. The glossy black and white photos of emaciated prisoners behind barbed wire told her immediately.

"Holocaust," Leah told her. "The word is Holocaust."

"Oh…" Nessie nodded in acknowledgment. "Isn't that a little 'h' word, too?"

"Yes," Leah nodded. "When it's a little 'h' it means to destroy on a very large scale."

"This book talks about this man," Nessie flipped the page and pointed out a picture of the infamous dictator. "Mr. Hitler… he did the Holocaust?"

"Yes, he did," Leah nodded, and didn't offer more knowing that Nessie's own thought process was stirring up questions. If the girl asked in her own time, she was more likely to understand.

Nessie didn't speak for a few moments, but from the spot where Nessie's hand rested against Leah she felt the girl's preternatural gift flare to life.

Leah swallowed. "Use your words, Nessie."

"Why do people hurt each other like that, Leah?"

"I dunno, Nessie," Leah admitted. "Some people are broken, and they make bad choices. Sometimes those choices only affect a couple people, but when you're an important person you hurt a lot of people very easily."

"Mr. Hitler was important. He was in charge or Germany. He said he wanted to fix Germany." Nessie leaned back into Leah's form as she spoke, seeming to wither with the attempt at understanding.

"Yes, he did. A lot of people believed him. You read about WWI? Well, after that the German people were punished very harshly. People felt bad, and they elected Hitler because he said he could make Germany great again."

"But it says millions and millions of people died, and he took other people's countries? That's not being very good or great."

"No, it's definitely not," Leah agreed. "But he thought that taking more land would make Germany better. These people," she pointed to the picture of the concentration camp survivors, "were blamed for the bad times in Germany."

"That's not fair!" The small girl sat bolt upright and smacked her hand against the open face of the book.

"But sometimes we blame things on people even if it's not their fault, right?" Leah hedged. "Like when you and Claire fool around? You two point fingers at each other a lot. It's easy to blame someone else when we have problems, or when we're in trouble but it's not the right thing to do."

"And Mr. Hitler blamed all the Jewish people in Germany?"

"Mhm," Leah nodded. "And Roma – they're group of people that travel all over, they don't live in one place – and gay people, people with disabilities, and some of the soldiers from Russia that were caught. They were made to work in camps like this in terrible conditions. They grew sick and hungry. Many died. And all those millions you mentioned were killed, too. All kinds of people, young and old, men and women."

"That's stupid," Nessie replied petulantly. Nessie was young and like all children had a very black and white perspective of justice and right and wrong. However, most children her age were not reading up on the Holocaust. "Kim teaches this girl, Molly. She teaches her piano and sometimes I get to see her when I go with Kim. She's ten and she's Jewish. I asked because she was wearing a necklace once and it looked like a little star and I told her it was pretty and she told me what it stood for and that she wore it because was Jewish. She is very nice and so is her mom and her brother."

"I bet she is. Molly Beckermann's mom is a very nice lady. I've met her many times before… So what does this make you think, Nessie? What do you think of Mr. Hitler's idea?"

"It was stupid," she muttered bitterly.

"What else?"

"When bad stuff happens you shouldn't blame other people. Some times it can be your fault, but I guess sometimes bad things can probably also happen for no special reason. And if we're all people, then we need to treat each other the same like you and Daddy tell me all the time. You're s'posed to treat other people how you would want to be treated."

"And just because someone or something's different, doesn't mean it's bad, right?"

"Different isn't bad. People do bad things when they don't like other people 'cause they're different."

* * *

When Jacob came back from picking up Billy from Council the pair came into the kitchen to see Leah face-planted onto the household finances with a half-empty glass of ice tea in her hand.

"Leah?" Jacob asked.

"Think our budgeting skills have finally killed the poor girl," Billy mused, as Jacob quickly went to check on Nessie – who was steadfastly asleep on the living room floor while Toy Story played on the TV.

Leah glanced up over her forearm and towards the two men staring at her. "I had to explain the Holocaust to Nessie today," Leah said matter-of-factly as Jacob returned to the kitchen.

"You all," she signaled pointedly, "can explain human reproduction, when she finally gets a hold of Jezzie's textbooks or Brady's porn collection."

 


End file.
